Caught Dead Handed (10 page)

“Ready.” Janice's disembodied voice was amplified, too. “Crystal, a flasher on the console will let you know when there's a caller on the line. Just press the green button when you're ready. Got it?”

The console was close to my right hand. I'd used similar models on the shopping channel back in Florida.

“Got it,” I said, and all of a sudden getting this silly little job seemed very important.

The flasher blinked. I took a deep breath. With my scraped hand shaking ever so slightly, I pressed the green button.

“Hello, caller,” I said. “Your first name and your question please.”

“'Ello, ducks.” It was Janice with a broad Cockney accent. “This is Audrey.”

“Hello, Audrey. Do you have a question?”

“Yes, indeed, luv.” She sounded like Eliza Doolittle before the elocution lessons. “Me daughter is datin' a bloke I don't like much. What do you think will come of it?”

“His name?” I pressed my fingers to my temples and closed my eyes, Ariel fashion.

“Oh, 'is name is 'Erbie.”

Fighting an urge to smile, I opened my eyes and spoke carefully. “Audrey, your first impression of this man may be correct. But I feel that your daughter resents your interference. Yes?”

She sighed. “Don't they all, though?”

“Well, perhaps if you can stop criticizing Herbie so much, your daughter may get bored with him and explore the universe further. I feel that her true soul mate has yet to find her.”

“That makes sense, luv. I'll give it a try. Thank you, Crystal.”

“You're welcome, Audrey. Peace and love to you and your daughter.”

The next voice was so convincing, I almost forgot that I was talking to Janice. This time she pretended to be a teenage boy named Paul.

“Hey, Crystal,” he said. “Hi. Listen. I got a chance to take an afternoon job at the Stop & Shop. Baggin' groceries, y'know? But my mom says I should be spendin' that time on my schoolwork. But I need the money to buy a car. So what's up with that?”

“I understand, Paul,” I said. “When is your birthday?”

“My birthday? Uh, May thirtieth. Why?”

Mostly to give me time to think.

I flipped the book in my lap open to the chapter on Gemini. “Because, Paul, your zodiac sign tells me that you change your mind very often about what you want to do. Are your marks in school important to you?”

“Sure. I have to get into college. I only have another year of high school.”

“Is getting into college next year more important than having a car right now?”

“I guess so.”

“Mom may be right on this one, Paul. Think about it carefully. Love and light to you.”

Janice made one more call, this time as a woman who wanted to know if Crystal Moon could help her find her lost dog. I told her that I felt that her pet was being cared for, and suggested that she contact the Salem Animal Rescue League for assistance.

“Okay. That's a wrap.” Marty rolled her camera away from the set. “Nice goin', kid.”

“Thanks. I hope Mr. Doan likes it.” I stood, glad to stretch tense muscles. “Can I thank Janice for her help? The calls were great.”

“Sure. Janice, you still there?”

“I'm here,” came the amplified voice.

“Can you come down here for a minute?”

“No can do, Marty. I'm talking to you from home sweet home. Wicked headache. What's up?”

“Lee here wanted to thank you.”

“Put her on.”

Marty handed me her mike. “Thanks, Janice,” I said. “Sorry you're not feeling well. You're awfully good with voices. Audrey was divine!”

“That one was easy. We lived in London for years, you know. Georgie and I are practically honorary Brits!” She laughed shortly; then her voice took a more serious tone. “Listen, Lee, are you all set with how the phones work? We may be kind of rushed Monday night, getting the eleven o'clock news squared away and all. If you have any questions, now's the time to ask.”

“You seem to be pretty sure I'll be here Monday night.”

“I'm sure. Look, there's a five-second lag between the time the call comes in and the time it gets on the air.”

I was familiar with the time delay from my stint as a shopping-show host and nearly said, “I know,” but caught myself. Better to let her explain it.

“It lets us cut off the crazies,” Janice said, “and the religious nuts and the heavy breathers.”

“Did Ariel get many crank calls?”

“Uh-huh. But usually we can head them off at the control room. See, somebody always mans the phones and screens all the calls.”

“I see. And you'll be doing it Monday?”

“That's usually my night off. But yes, I'll try to be there for your first show. I'm there most nights, anyway, so often the regulars who call know my voice.”

“Are there many regulars?”

“Some of them would be on every night if we let them. But you'll be fine. There's always someone there who knows how to handle everything.”

“Okay. If you say so. Thanks again, Janice. Marty is signaling me to cut this short. Bye.” I handed the mike to the frantically hand-signaling woman. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing wrong. Sorry to rush you, but George is back and we're ready to button things up here. He's going to put the sports set back together, and I want to run this tape up to Doan. Scott had to leave in a hurry. The chief called another presser down at the police station. Seems they found some kind of ID on that straight razor.”

“Good,” I said. “I hope they catch the guy soon.”

“I know.” Marty headed for the door. “No one likes to think about some murdering nut job wandering around loose in Salem.”

Back in the dressing room, I changed into jeans and sweater, put the Crystal Moon costume back into the garment bag, tucked the astronomy book under my arm, and called my aunt.

“Give me a few minutes, Maralee,” she said. “There's a policeman here to pick up that cat food. I'll call when I get close to the station.”

I nearly ran into Detective Mondello as I left the dressing room.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Barrett. I was looking for you.”

“How can I help you, Detective?”

“We've finished up back there.” He motioned toward the
Nightshades
set. “You folks can get back to work now.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking around the long studio. “I don't see George around, and I really have no authority here. Maybe you should tell somebody upstairs.”

“I will,” he said. “Want to take a look and be sure we put everything back the way it's supposed to be?”

“I guess I could do that.”

I followed him down the aisle toward the set. With Mondello standing next to me, I surveyed the items arranged on the table. The books were laid out so that all the titles were visible. The bowl of crystals and the obsidian ball were there, both showing dustlike residue left over from a fingerprinting examination. As I added my copy of
Linda Goodman's Sun Signs
to the pile of books, I noticed something different. A dust-covered paperback I hadn't seen before. I pointed.

“I don't think that one belongs here,” I said. “At least it wasn't there when I borrowed the others.”

He read the title aloud. “
Dissociative Disorders.
Yeah. We found it between the couch cushions. Figured it must be one of hers.”

“Must be. Well, thanks for finishing so quickly.”

“No problem.” He smiled. “I'll be watching for you on TV.”

“If I get the job,” I said. “It's not for sure yet.”

“Bet you do.” He gave a little salute and headed for the parking lot.

I sat on the couch and began to arrange the books, as well as I could remember, into their original positions. I reached into my handbag for a tissue and gingerly flicked some of the dust from the black ball. Immediately I saw the pinpoints of light. Then the swirling colors. I tried to look away.

A pair of boots. Not dressy, high-heeled boots like mine. Not cowboy boots or fishermen's boots, either. These were big, sturdy boots. The kind that workmen or soldiers might wear. There was a bright spray of red across the toes, and beneath the soles I saw a pair of pale hands clutching, clawing at a granite surface. The vision faded until all that was visible was a flash of gold in the shape of a pentagram.

This time I didn't scream or cry or faint. I sat there on Ariel's turquoise couch, staring at her obsidian ball, trying to make some sense of what I had seen seconds ago in the smooth black glass.

The vision, or whatever it was, had to do with her death.

Her murder.

The chief had said that heavy boots had broken Ariel's fingers. So the images had simply reinforced something I already knew. The picture I'd seen in the ball earlier, the one of the figure in the blood-spattered kitchen, seemed to represent the other murdered woman, Yvette Pelletier. The taxi driver had told me her throat was cut, so again, that scene had shown something I already knew. And what about the pictures I'd seen in the little shoes in the attic? All those things were from my own past. Again, things I knew about.

“So,” I muttered, “tell me something I don't know.”

The pinpoints of light, the swirling colors appeared in an instant. Again, I saw the rough, heavy boots. Then it seemed as though a camera was slowly pulling back, broadening my field of vision. Just before the colors faded, I saw the tops of the boots, where the pants legs were tucked inside. The worn fabric of the pants bore the random spot design called camouflage.

That's the guy they're looking for in the murder down the street. Could the same man have something to do with both deaths?

My first instinct was to chase Detective Mondello, to tell him. . . .
To tell him what? That the same man is involved in both crimes? And when he asks me why I think so, I can tell him that a fake psychic thinks she sees his picture in a fake crystal ball.

Scratch that idea.

If I could just see some of the footage of the surveillance videos they'd been collecting, at least I'd know if the man was wearing boots or not. That made sense. I'd just ask Marty. She seemed to have access to all things camera related.

I picked up my garment bag and purse and headed up to the office. Detective Mondello was there, talking with Rhonda. They both looked up, halting their conversation.

“Oh, you still here?” Rhonda asked. “I thought you'd gone. This place emptied out like Fenway Park in a rain delay.”

“Where is everybody?” I asked.

She held up a well-manicured hand and began counting on cerise nail-polished fingers. “Well, let's see. George and Scott are at the police station. Marty's down the street, at that murder thing. They even had me call Old Sam to come in and cover the picketers across the street.”

“Old Sam?” That was a new name to me.

“Yeah. Part-time camera guy. He's over there, trying to sort out the witch protesters from the PETA people.”

“PETA? What's their problem—”

Mondello interrupted. “Let me guess. The dead seagulls, right?”

Rhonda nodded. “Right. Five seagulls. Dead from poison.”

“No kidding,” I said. “
Poison?
Things around here just keep getting weirder!”

“Tell me about it!” Rhonda consulted her notebook. “But, hey. Good news. Mr. Doan says you can start Monday on
Nightshades
and see how it goes.”

“See? I knew you'd get it!” The detective offered a high five.

“Thanks,” I said, tapping his big hand. “That was fast. I wonder if he even watched the test video.”

“He just watched the beginning,” Rhonda said. “I guess that's all he needed to see.”

Remembering the deliberately lowered neckline and the forward leaning pose, I wasn't surprised. So I had a job. Sort of. No contract, no personal interview, and no mention of money yet, but it was something. And after all, everyone at the station seemed pretty busy with more important things than their new psychic's future.

I realized that Mondello was still watching me, with what seemed like more than professional interest. Maybe, if I asked in just the right way, he'd tell me something that would help to explain the pictures in the obsidian ball.

“Detective Mondello,” I began.

“Pete.”

“Pete.” I smiled my sweetest smile. “I was just wondering, did that man in the camouflage suit show up on any of the surveillance films?”

His interested look became totally professional. “Funny you should mention that. I was just asking Rhonda here about the footage from this station's outdoor cameras.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Seems the guy showed up on cameras all the way down Derby Street. Right up to the building next door.”

I didn't see a logical opening there for my question about the boots, so I offered a noncommittal “Oh?”

“It's weird, you know,” Rhonda said. “There's a whole chunk of video missing. There's no pictures of Ariel going outside, and there's no pictures of the camo dude walking by. It's an old camera, but it's always worked okay. There should be something on it, shouldn't there?”

“That
is
strange.” I agreed with Rhonda. “How is that possible, Detective . . . uh . . . Pete?”

“We're working on it. Seems to be a computer problem.”

The buzzing of my cell saved me from having to respond to this latest bombshell.

“Hello. Aunt Ibby?”

“Maralee? I'm on my way to pick you up. The policeman just left with the bag of O'Ryan's old cat food. And, my dear, thank God he didn't eat it. They think it's full of rat poison!”

I spotted the Buick at a parking meter across the street from the station, motor running and Aunt Ibby leaning out of the window, talking to one of the PETA protesters. I made my way to the passenger side and climbed in, tossing the garment bag onto the backseat.

“One of your library friends?” I asked as my aunt waved a cheery good-bye to the sign-carrying woman.

“Yes, indeed. She and the others are very upset about those dead seagulls.”

“I heard. Poisoned, apparently.”

“Yes. And the police think it was the cat food.”

“Could be,” I said, “but I'm sure nobody meant to harm the birds. When Janice fixed a big bowl of it for him the morning after Ariel died, she certainly didn't know there was anything wrong with it.”

“A good thing he's not easily enticed.”

I laughed. “You're a fine one to talk! You've been enticing that cat with gourmet goodies from the start.”

“True.” She sounded pleased with herself. “I had that bag of nasty stuff in the garage, along with some old blankets and things I was going to take over to the animal shelter, when that policeman showed up, put on rubber gloves, and put the whole package into a big red plastic bag and took it away. I hope the neighbors weren't looking. What must they think?”

“I don't even know what I think,” I admitted.

But if the poison wasn't meant for the gulls, does that mean someone wants O'Ryan dead? Why?

I shook the thought away. “I hope the police don't bother you again.”

“No bother. Actually, it's kind of exciting being part of something mysterious.” She reached over and patted my hand. “But enough about me. Tell me all about your test run. When will you know if Mr. Doan approves of you as Ariel's replacement?”

“The test went well, and according to Rhonda, he's already approved the video. I can start Monday and ‘see how it goes.' Whatever that means.”

“I don't know whether to be pleased for you or frightened of the whole psychic thing because of . . . you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Shall I tell her about the latest picture in the ball? Or would it be kinder—and wiser—to keep it to myself ?

We approached the common, where the striped tent had attracted a good-size group of people.

“Why don't you just drop me off here?” I said. “I'll walk home.”

“All right. If you think it will be useful.” She sounded unconvinced but pulled the Buick over to the curb, and I stepped out onto the narrow brick sidewalk.

“Please don't worry. It'll be fun. I'll be home soon.”

There was a line outside the tent, so clearly the “no waiting” promise wasn't going to work out. But considering the city's well-advertised monthlong celebration of Halloween, it was a relatively short queue.

At the tent entrance a tall man wearing a pointed hat straight out of
Harry Potter
seemed to be performing some sort of triage. “Fortune-teller? Crystal gazer? Tarot card reader? Dearly departed contact? Tea leaf reader?” Depending on each visitor's preference, he or she was quickly directed to a particular roped-off area.

I paused for just a moment, and at my hesitation he tapped a pointed red shoe. “Well, what'll it be, lady? Fortune? Crystal? Cards? Dead people? Tea?”

I knew I didn't want to look at that crystal ball. Having my fortune told held some appeal. I thought about Ariel's books and decided.

“Tarot,” I said. “Definitely tarot.”

There were three tables at the end of my rope line. I studied one of the readers. The black robe she'd worn earlier had been replaced with jeans and a yellow sweater. She looked different, but it was the same young witch Scott Palmer had interviewed. I selected the folding chair opposite the girl.

“I recognize you,” I said, handing her my twenty-five dollars. “I saw you on TV.”

She smiled and began to place colorful tarot cards, one by one, in a pattern on the tabletop.

“I recognize you, too,” she said. “The Queen of Wands.”

“Oh, have we met?”

Recognizes me? I know we haven't. But then, she's a witch.

She continued arranging cards, chattering in a friendly way. “The Queen of Wands. I knew you by the green eyes, and the copper hair, of course.”

Have I traveled through the looking glass? What in hell is a Queen of Wands?

I searched my memory.
Wands. Pentacles. Cups. Swords.

“The tarot cards,” I said aloud.

She looked up. “Yes. The tarot is my gift.”

“And you're a witch, too?”

She glanced around, speaking softly. “I am. But they asked us not to wear our robes or say anything about that. They don't want the picketers messing up the common.”

“I see. What's your name?”

“River North.”

“Really?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “Not really. What's yours?”

I smiled back. “Crystal Moon.”

“Really?”

“No. Not really.” We both laughed.

“Okay, Crystal. Let's get started on your reading.”

“Yes, please, River.”

She moved her hands gracefully over the surface of the cards. “The Seven of Swords is reversed in your sixth house. You are good at giving advice.”

“Interesting,” I said, “and a very useful thing to know right now.”

“Is it? Good. But remember, less is more. Know when to be quiet. Avoid TMI.”

“TMI?”

“Too much information.”

“I'll try. You said on TV that you knew Ariel Constellation. Was the tarot her gift, too?”

“Ariel had many gifts.” She returned to studying the cards she'd arranged on the table.

“Listen closely, Crystal.” She leaned forward. “You have to be careful. The King of Cups is reversed in your twelfth house.” She looked at me expectantly. “Any idea who it is?”

“I don't know what it
means,
River.”

“Oh, sorry. It means you have a secret enemy. A man. He probably seems calm. Cool. But watch out. He has two faces. Underneath he's fierce. Maybe violent.”

“Great. That's all I need.”

“Don't worry too much. Just be careful around men.”

“I always am. Anything else?”

“Hmmm.” She passed her hands over the cards again. “Do you live with your mother?”

“My mother? No. My mother's dead. I'm staying with my aunt. Why?”

“There's a woman close to you. The Queen of Cups. She's often a mother.”

“Aunt Ibby's really the only mother I've ever known. She raised me.”

“That explains the card. Keep her close. She's a good protector.” She nodded several times, as though pleased with the reading. “Do you have questions?”

“Anything there about a job?”

“Do you have one now?”

“Sort of. I'm not sure it will last, though.”

She touched a card. “It won't.”

“How do you know that?”

“It's all here,” she said, tapping the card. “The Five of Pentacles. You'll be out of work within a month.”

“Wow. You're full of good news, aren't you?”

“It's not me, Crystal.” She reached across the table and took my hand. “Really. It's the cards.” She lowered her voice. “There's more here you need to know. They only allow a few minutes with each client. Need to keep the lines moving.” She handed me a business card. “Please call me. Soon. I think it may be important.”

“I will. And thanks, River. It was very . . . instructive.”

“You're welcome, Crystal. Good-bye. Be safe.”

I headed for the exit and passed a black-draped souvenir stand. Postcards, T-shirts, medallions, crystals, and Styrofoam gargoyles vied for space with staffs, broomsticks, pointed hats, and rows and rows of books. I found the boxed sets of tarot cards among Ouija boards and glitter filled magic wands. Feeling just a little foolish, I bought one.

Once outside the tent, I headed for one of the cement benches spaced around the perimeter of the park. I opened the box and sorted through the colorful oblong cards until I found the one marked Queen of Wands. I placed it in my lap and put the rest of the deck back into the box. I gazed around the old familiar Salem Common, not really focusing on anything in particular, then slowly lifted the card to eye level.

The red-haired queen carried a staff in her right hand. In the other hand she held a tall sunflower, a black ball in its center. In the foreground, with its back to the throne, sat a golden-eyed cat.